“Have you got it with you?” asked Mrs Vernon.

“Yes’m,” said he.  “I thought I’d just step up with it myself, so as to be sure.”

“It’s very good of you!”

“Not at all,” said he; and he produced the purse.  “I think you’ll find it as it should be.”

Mrs Vernon gave him a courtly smile as she thanked him.

“I’d like ye to count it, ma’am,” said Chadwick, as she showed no intention of even opening the purse.

“If you wish it,” said she, and counted her wealth and restored it to the purse. “Quite right—­quite right!  Fifty pounds and ten shillings,” she said pleasantly.  “I’m very much obliged to you, Chadwick.”

“Not at all, m’m!” He was still standing in the sheltered porch.

An idea seemed to strike Mrs Clayton Vernon.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“Well, thank ye, m’m,” said Thomas.

“Maria,” said Mrs Vernon, calling to someone within the house, “bring this man a glass of beer.”  And she turned again to Chadwick, smitten with another idea.  “Let me see.  Your eldest daughter has two little boys, hasn’t she?”

“Yes’m,” said Thomas—­“twins.”

“I thought so.  Her husband is my cook’s cousin.  Well, here’s two threepenny bits—­one for each of them.”  With some trouble she extracted the coins from a rather shabby leather purse—­evidently her household purse.  She bestowed them upon the honest conductor with another grateful and condescending smile.  “I hope you don’t mind taking them for the chicks,” she said.  “I do like giving things to children.  It’s so much nicer, isn’t it?”

“Certainly, m’m.”

Then the servant brought the glass of beer, and Mrs Vernon, with yet another winning smile, and yet more thanks, left him to toss it off on the mat, while the servant waited for the empty glass.

IV

On the following Friday afternoon young Paul Ford was again on the Moorthorne car, and subject to the official ministrations of Thomas Chadwick.  Paul Ford was a man who never bore malice when the bearing of malice might interfere with the gratification of his sense of humour.  Many men—­perhaps most men—­after being so grossly insulted by a tram-conductor as Paul Ford had been insulted by Chadwick, would at the next meeting have either knocked the insulter down or coldly ignored him.  But Paul Ford did neither. (In any case, Thomas Chadwick would have wanted a deal of knocking down.) For some reason, everything that Thomas Chadwick said gave immense amusement to Paul Ford.  So the young man commenced the conversation in the usual way: 

“How do, Tommy?”

The car on this occasion was coming down from Moorthorne into Bursley, with its usual bump and rattle of windows.  As Thomas Chadwick made no reply, Paul Ford continued: 

“How much did she give you—­the perfect lady, I mean?”